


Sàbhalaiche

by Arckee



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: AU - no curse, F/F, Historically Inaccurate, but it's not THAT curse, historian waverly, i mean there's a curse, knight nicole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arckee/pseuds/Arckee
Summary: Waverly is a clumsy historian who stumbles upon a sleeping woman.Or at least she would have if that woman hadn't been impaled by a fucking sword.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 51
Kudos: 229





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing much to add, actually. I thought this could be a fun idea, so I wrote something about it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The hike left her panting and huffing.

If she could go back in time, Waverly would advise her younger self to read one book less and go out for a walk. Even her years as a cheerleader didn't help much, because cheerleadering wasn't based on endurance, more on quick bursts of energy that left her insides hollow and made her faceplant on the bed after each gruesome session. 

Her history degree hadn't warned her either against blisters and aching feet, hurting from long hours of trekking and climbing. She should have just accepted that position as an archivist.

As she climbs over a crumbled wall, Waverly takes a moment to stop and look around, breathing in the crispy air.

This is why she refused that archivist offer.

The castle lays in shambles in front of her, bathed in the rising sunlight. Sun rays and plants stream through the holes in the structure, as nature overrules every nook and corner, wild flowers and weeds growing in each crack molded by time and weather. Nature always prevails over man labour. 

It's one of the truth Waverly learned as an historian. 

From her higher perch on the top of the wall, Waverly observes the scenery, eyes squinting against the sunlight. In her unsatisfactory preliminary research, the books she poured hours into only offered scattered words, details hazy and conflicting most times about what she would find between the ruins.

Purgadair Caislean is a small castle, objectively speaking, mostly ignored by historians and scientists, but Waverly finds herself drawn to it nonetheless. She can't exactly be impartial about it, though, being the castle of her hometown. The one place that's always been forbidden to her child adventures.

She always resented Willa and Wynonna, who kept bragging about exploring it. About sneaking out in the cold nights, armed only with lanterns and torn coats, looking for a ghost or another spiritually charged entity. 

Waverly was the youngest, the whiny whimpering brat no one wanted to tag along.

Still, despite their brave claims, her sisters always came home empty handed.

Waverly had always been stranded in her longing, the fear of her father's punishment too stifling to let her venture alone among the ruins, crossing the castle borders.

But now Wynonna is gone, trampling around Europe and Willa... well, Willa disappeared with _that_ man.

So that left Waverly alone to face the decaying ruins.

The entrance wooden door easily gives under her weight and Waverly comes crashing down on the pavement, teeth clacking painfully together, chin hitting the ground. As she slowly rises, dusting herself off, Waverly winces, surveying her trail of damage to the entry.

She loved leaving a good first impression.

The flashlight flickers to life only with little encouragement, outlining all the dust prints in the shadows, the empty halls blossoming with hidden life. Invisible insects scurry around, disturbed by Waverly's human clumsiness, taking refuge in the dark. The distant call of a crow echoes in the space, filtering from the missing window.

There's the statue of some kind of lady looming at the end of a large chamber. Waverly stops at her feet to dig up her journal to jot down a few notes, afraid she'll miss some crucial details. She'll have to come back later with the proper equipment, a camera, another notepad, maybe she can convince Jeremy to tag along with his dating equipment.

She tugs insistently at her bag, journal stuck on something.

"I really should learn to pack fewer things."

As her bag refuses to give, Waverly leans bodily backwards, tugging. It's not her most logically sound decision, but excitement always made her rush. With a snap, the journal comes loose, popping open one button in the process. Suddenly weightless, Waverly finds herself falling for the second time, pushing against nothing. Her flailing arms grasp on the statue's hand, effective in breaking her fall, but the smooth marble moves, hand twisting under her push.

An ominous click resonates in the air and Waverly halts. Only a beat lapses before ancient gears cough to life, groaning and grumbling around her for a long moment before another click chimes behind her.

Waverly exhales a relieved sigh when she realizes nothing came crumbling down around her.

Except a hole in the wall that definitely wasn't there before.

"A secret passage!"

To hell with property damages.

She skips forward, bouncing with excitement, ducking to enter the small hallway. The passage tilts downward, taking her deeper and deeper within the earth. The rough wooden boards covering the walls gradually transform into more uniform, man-made cuts as she proceeds forward. Something tickles her sense of mystery: usually secret passages lead to escape routes, designed for the royal family hasty getaway, sometimes underground or through the servants quarters. But instead of leading toward the outside perimeter, this one arches further on itself, toward the centre of the structure.

She brushes the nearest wall with her fingers to ground herself, amazed.

A couple of minutes later, Waverly is still walking, the even planks leading her further. The slopping floor soon turns into rough hewn stairs, uneven and treacherous, leading ever downward.

When she finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, the crooked passage opens in a large area, bathed by natural light coming from above. She lifts her head, looking up, to see Nature's work, a twisting of branches and leaves breaching through the deeper levels of the castle, coexisting together with the structure. 

"Amazing..." Waverly murmurs, afraid to break the concealed stillness of the chamber.

The room is barren, empty of human touch, as the shadows stretch around her. Except for a long table in the middle, covered by a glass case decorated by the elegant painting of golden flowers. If it wasn't utterly ridiculous, Waverly would think that it once hosted the sleeping body of a beautiful princess.

The historian in her cracks a smile, leaning more towards a treasury of some kind, robbed at any point after the inhabitant abandoned their home.

There's only one corner swallowed by darkness, a recess in the ancient wall, untouched by sun rays.

Waverly tiptoes forward, flashlight pointed on the floor, the shiny circle rising slowly from the splintered tiles.

When the light hits the throne hidden under the alcove, Waverly cries out in terror, a piercing scream that cleaves the room, shaking the still air.

There's a woman, slumped on the throne, sitting with her back hunched forward, head titled down on her chest, as if in deep slumber. The green of her tunic is smooth, the vibrant dark hue of the forests, creating a stark contrast with her fiery red hair. 

Or at least she would be asleep if she hadn't been impaled by a - _frigging fucking holy shit_ \- sword in the middle of her chest.

So correction. There's a _corpse_ slumped on the throne.

After the initial shock, Waverly inches closer, drawn by morbid curiosity. The woman's short hair, curly around the edges, frames her fair features, as Waverly lets her eyes trace the delicate dip of a pale cheek. No colour shines on her cheekbones.

Her brain immediately starts ticking, analyzing details and sprouting questions.

For how long has she been here? Shouldn't her body be withered and decayed? Why there's no blood leaking from the wound? The sword is sticking out from her heart shouldn't she- ooooh. 

Poop.

She's breathing.

She. Is. Breathing.

Waverly tugs at her hair in despair, hopping in place, nonsensical garbled noises coming from the back of her throat.

"Oh my God. Ooooh, holy shit. I should... I should call somebody. But who? The police? A doctor? Shit balls!"

She halts her frantic pacing, arguing with herself.

"And what should I tell them? That I found a breathing woman at the end of a secret passage I followed in a decaying castle? Oh maybe should I mention that she's been fucking impaled by a fucking sword? Yeah, of course. And maybe admit myself in the psychiatric ward in the meanwhile." 

She clings to her flashlight, holding it tight against her chest like it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. Maybe it is. Or maybe she is slowly going crazy.

“Okay“ Waverly chokes out, “Maybe I should- she isn't – I should've-“

Waverly drops the light before bolting out of the chamber, scrambling for the hidden passage. The stairs groan, the stone steps resonating coldly under her feet. When she stops, a couple of turns deep into the passage, she's panting, chest heaving.

She throws her hands up in the air. “Oh, for fuck's sake, she's been impaled!” She quickly turns on her feet, barreling down the stairs she just climbed, taking the steps two at a time. 

The sword hilt is scorching hot between her shaking fingers.

Waverly watches the slumbering woman one last time, assuring herself that she's making the right decision, before she pulls with all her might at the sword, screaming. 

The blade is easily freed from its human sheath with a wet cutting sound that soon morphs into a pained gasp, tumbling from the red haired woman's parted lips.

Hazy caramel eyes flicker.


	2. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm really nervous about this one. This scene feels super important, so I hope it turned out okay.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who left a comment! I'll slowly work my way thorugh them, I promise. Thank you for your kind words.
> 
> Last, thank you for reading!

  
"So, let me get this straight."

Waverly narrows her eyes in an unimpressed stare.

"Yeah... awful choice of words. But! Correct me if I'm wrong, let me recap. You woke up at the crack of dawn and thought it would be a splendid idea to explore Purgadair Caislean all by yourself. After you vandalized a door and a statue-"

"Both accidents..."

"-both important historical artifacts, you discovered a secret passage. And you climbed down that passage, all the way down to a hidden chamber, a super secret room where you found a woman. A sleeping woman who had a _sword_ sticking out from her chest, the same sword you decided to pull out, causing the mentioned lady to wake up from her slumber. Then it turns out she was put under a sleeping curse almost a thousand years ago, a curse you broke. And then, as if it wasn't enough, you decided that the next logical step was to bring her here, a woman from a completely different time."

Waverly barely resists the urge to flinch at the accusations, twiddling with n hair band, stolen from the array of trinkets laying on Jeremy's desk.

"Actually, it was a just a tad more complicated than that..."

  
++++++++

  
In the silence that follows, Waverly barely moves. The chamber is so still that if she dropped a pin on the ground it would have echoed. Only the rustle of distant leaves reach them from above, swaying on the rhythm of the gentle music of the wind.

Waverly's eyes follow every little twitch of the other woman, as she leans forward, inevitably drawn in by her curiosity.

With a low parched sound the woman leans backward, arching her body against the backrest of the throne, brows furrowed. She pants, gulping much needed air between gasps, chest heaving with each swallow intake of breath. Her eyes remain clouded, storms swirling behind her confused gaze, focused on empty space.

Waverly stares as she lifts one trembling hand to cover her eyes and hunches on her side, posture wilting and dropping. Her serene expression is long gone, replaced by deep lines engraved in her weary frown.

The historian becomes unaware of how much time she spends like this, knuckles whitening around the sword hilt, wondering if she could be dreaming. But then the other woman pushes herself to her legs, bracing against the throne to rise. Waverly moves with her, noticing the pained grimace splitting her face as she stands. She lasts only one second before Waverly has to rush forward to catch her before her knees give out from under her completely, sword clattering to the ground with a harsh clank.

"Oh," Waverly huffs, lithe body buckling under the redhead, who's definitely taller, "Fuck, you're heavy."

They both groan, trading hushed complaints, and Waverly staggers as she feels the other woman sagging, leaning more of her weight against her.

"Nope. Definitely not a dream. When you weigh this much you're very real."

They wobble for a couple of uncertain steps, Waverly guiding the redhead back to the throne, steering her with uncoordinated clumsy motions. The woman stumbles along without many protests until she collapses heavily on the chair. Satisfied she won't end face planting on the floor, Waverly leans back, removing her palms from the woman's shoulders.

Caramel eyes squint owlishly in the low light, as the redhead lifts her head to peer at Waverly, fighting through the web fogging her brain.

Waverly blinks back.

"Wha..." the woman's rough timbre sends a shiver running down her spine.

Stomach coiled, Waverly remains silent, letting the redhead adjust to her surroundings. A bright sparkle of recognition dawns on her features, still tightly drawn into a frown, "The Resurrection Chambers..."

Suddenly, she looks up, startled.

"The princess!"

"No, wait!" Waverly jolts into motion, placating hands raised between them. But the redhead doesn't seem interested in listening, as she brushes past Waverly, rushing, while the historian scrambles to move out of her path.

"No! Where is she?" she pleads, palms flattening against the empty glass case in the middle of the chamber. Waverly recognizes a familiar desperation fueling her hits.

"Princess! Your Highness!"

Her pounding fist echoes wanly.

Without a word, Waverly stands there and waits, taking shallow breaths and being as quiet as she can, hiding awkwardly on the side. A desire to comfort pushes against her chest, but she has no idea where to start, and not even because she is out of her depth with this woman, but more because she doesn't view herself as naturally calming presence. 

After a long moment, the redhead turns on her feet, eyes focusing on Waverly for the first time with a burning intensity.

"Where is the princess?" 

Blazing comets narrow on her.

"I don't know, I've-I've no idea... you..."

"No, you must be aware of her whereabouts. Tell me this instant!" the woman thunders, all previous signs of discomfort washed away by her suddenly imposing posture.

The threat sits wrongly with Waverly, hesitancy vanishing in an instant and leaving space for aggravation.

"Oh, you better calm the fudge down! I didn't see anyone here, except for you," Waverly rebuffs, stomping closer and eyebrows lowered, "There wasn't anyone else in this room!"

"Do not lie to me-"

"I'm not lying! It's the truth!"

The woman halts in her steps, eyes sharpening, but Waverly doesn't falter under scrutiny, tense and stiff.

She searches for something in Waverly's eyes, an inkling of truth that makes her shatter.

"No..." the red haired woman mutters to herself, gaze lowering, "It cannot be true, I..."

The annoyance shatters in Waverly's chest, concern seeping through the cracks.

"I swear, I found you on that throne, with a sword sticking out from your chest. No one else was here..."

The stranger points her gaze to the throne, eyes empty.

"No!" she protests, shaking her head, hands searching for the smooth glass as she grows more upset. But her anger is weak, resembling more dying embers, a pale memory of her previous outburst, "No, no, no..."

"I'm sorry..." Waverly murmurs, but doesn't come closer, despite her hand itching to bring comfort to the distraught woman. She waits for the shaking of her shoulders to pass.

"There was no one left here."

Waverly blinks, not expecting to hear her talk, "No... But it's okay. I, uh, I can help you look for her, if you want. She can't have gone far, right?"

The woman doesn't acknowledge her for a slow beat as Waverly shifts her weight on her feet, swaying nervously, mind racing.

She knows what it means to be lost. To be alone. To feel heavy and sad and disoriented. She understands what the woman is saying, at least in some way, and for some reason she only wants to help.

Let's start with something easy, Waves. One thing at a time. You don't want to overwhelm her. 

She breathes, inhaling deeply, "Can you tell me who you are?" Waverly prompts, tentative.

She's offered a long sigh and curved shoulders, "My name... my name is Nicole Haught. Of Purgadair, I am a knight, a..." she sighs again, "A guard, tasked with the privilege of... defending the princess, her Highness."

That's a start.

"Do you know this place, Nicole?" Waverly asks softly, weighing each word.

"The Resurrection Chambers..." she says, trailing off and Waverly nods, as if she's supposed to know this already.

"Her Highness was... she was here. Cursed to sleep in this place," her fingers trace the golden pattern on the glass, "She was supposed to be here... I was..."

"Cursed with her?"

The knight looks up, startling Waverly.

"No. I was put under a similar sleeping spell by the wizard serving under the king's orders."

"You were put under a spell? Why?"

Realizing she divulged too much, Nicole shoots her a look, wary but not unkind, without offering any kind of answer. 

A thought flashes in front of her.

"The sword," Waverly chimes in, breaking the tense silence, pieces slowly stitching together.

The next question is easy, burning on the tip of her tongue as Waverly gazes at the empty glass case, golden leaves frozen in time. As a historian, Waverly also learned the importance of time, of the correct timing of any events, human or natural they be. She remains quiet, eyes lingering on the dimming knight.

"But you have..." Nicole halts her words and turns back from the case, stepping partially into the shadows. 

Waverly doesn't chase, keeping her distance. Together they stare at the darkness, merely surviving.

Shattering the moment, the brunette coughs, throat itching for a drink in the dusty hall. Looking up at the intrusion, the knight braves the silence once again.

"I must apologize. Scaring you was not my intention. I should have not been so brusque before."

Waverly brushes off the words, rising her hand to twist a strand of hair between fingers. She doesn't fight about the deflection, watching as Nicole nods to herself, swallowing heavily.

"Oh, no. It's okay. And, pf, I wasn't scared. Of course not. I was merely, uh, spooked...?"

"Well," the pale ghost of a grin dawns on her lips, "Then I apologize for... spooking you."

"Waverly. Uh, that's my name. Waverly Earp."

"I apologize for my preceding conduct, Lady Waverly. It was hardly appropriate."

"It's okay," Waverly says, bowing her head. In the suspended dust particles, she takes the opportunity to learn the knight's features, as if that will tell her all the answers to the questions running through her head. 

"I get it, you were confused and you..." she trails off as she sees Nicole bending to pick up her sword, laying forgotten on the fragmented tiles.

The knight frowns at the opaque reflection on blunt side of the blade. 

Darkness dances around them as the image disappears, light flickering and lines blurring.

  
+++++++

  
"She needed more convincing to follow me, but I'm glad she did. She's hell bent on finding her princess. And I promised to help her."

Jeremy fiddles with his goggles tied around his neck, as Waverly finishes her recap. He looks at her with an unusual serious expression, eyes thoughtful.

"Do you think she was telling the truth?"

Waverly halts mid-thought, blinking at the question, one she hadn't asked herself. 

But the image of Nicole, so sad and lost burns behind her eyelids, imprinted in her memory. It's so different from the present version of the redhead, who's roaming Jeremy's lab, skipping from one shelf to another, eager to touch everything. A pair of measuring beakers already perished under the knight's inquisitiveness.

"Yes. I'm sure."

She's thankful when Jeremy simply nods and doesn't push her to explain her reasoning. She isn't sure she could.

"What are you gonna do with her?"

It's a legit question, one Waverly mulled over and over.

"I think I'll bring her back to the Homestead. And then we'll try and figure out what happened to her in that castle. And look for her princess."

His mustaches lift in a reassuring grin, a strong beacon against her uncertain thoughts. Waverly feels a sudden burst of affection warming her chest.

"So!" Jeremy exclaims, clapping his hands together, "We've got research to do!"

"Yeah," Waverly sighs, slumping in the nearest spinning chair, "I really need your help, Jer, because I'm freaking the hell out here. I have no idea who this princess might be. Or where she could be right now! What if she's dead? Ugh, I don't wanna even think about it."

Jeremy is already deep into his speculations.

"But, Waves, this is _so_ amazing. A real knight! From hundreds of years ago!" he skips around his office, piling books and folders in his gangly arms, talking one mile per minute, "With her help my DnD cosplay will be even more realistic and detailed. I'm gonna look so cool next time I... I..." he stops, aware of his audience "Or... I would look cool if I had a DnD costume to show off. Which I don't. Have a costume, I mean."

Waverly pushes against the floor with both feet, chair spinning in circle.

"Yeah, who am I kidding. Of course I do cosplay."

A sudden crash resonates behind them, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

"Oh god, Nicole!" Waverly bolts out of the room, Jeremy following closely behind.

The red haired knight is standing in the middle of a shower of glass shards, head tucked into a refrigerator.

"My samples!" Jeremy whines, rushing to collect what's salvageable from the floor, where a variety of spilled liquids are already mixing in a single brownish stain.

"Nicole! What are you doing?"

"Oh, Lady Waverly," Nicole says serenely, half turning in the cramped space to peek at her, "I am acquainting myself to the many wondrous objects of your time."

"And you need to do stick your head in the fridge for that?"

Nicole pulls back, cheeks pleasantly reddened by the cold, "I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the term..."

"My dinner is safe!" Jeremy pipes up, bent on the floor, holding a foil wrapped burrito in his hands, the brownish stain quickly climbing up his pants.

"You keep your food with the forensic evidence?"

"Yup." he chirps, starting to unwrap his prize.

"You know there are body parts in that fridge, right?"

"So?" he replies around a full mouth, biting into his lunch despite being barely mid afternoon. Waverly throws her hands up, exhaling.

"Lady Waverly." Nicole calmly interjects from behind, crossing the room in few precise strides while clutching a small thin cylinder, "I did not realize you were associated with a magic holder. Is your friend a wizard? A sorcerer? Is that why you brought me here? Because his knowledge will be useful in our search for Her Highness?"

The princess, right.

"Oh, I'm more like an alchemist, if you want to-"

"Jeremy! Not helping."

Nicole ignores them and hums, studying intently the object she's cradling in her palms, "This room is full of amazement. I just discovered this tool to be a sort of... window to another dimension made of unstable shapes and colours, all in constant motion. It is quite fascinating," she proclaims, before sticking the tube up to her eye, squinting.

A moment later, the knight thrusts the cylinder in Waverly's hands. 

It's a kaleidoscope, the sleek metal warm under her fingers. 

Waverly smiles at her, thoughts about the knight swirling. Of how lost she looked, while standing under the cracked alcove, face hidden in the shadows.

"Jeremiah? Am I pronouncing it correctly?" Nicole asks, fumbling, "Is this one of your inventions?"

Honored and proud and overenthusiastic, Jeremy launches into a technical spiel about optic mechanisms and colour absorption in crystals, waving his half eaten burrito and pointing at the cylinder with the other hand. Tall and silent, the knight listens raptly, though Waverly isn't sure how much of this jargon she's actually understanding or how much she's politely nodding along to.

She lifts the kaleidoscope to her eye anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's a joke I totally wanted to include but couldn't make it fit into the story, so I had to discard in the final draft.
> 
> Jeremy: So you destroyed the whole place before discovering a secret passage in a wall, which practically is the same thing as a...  
> Waverly: Don't you dare...  
> Jeremy: SECRET TUNNEL! SECRET TUNNEL! THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN! Secret, secret, secret, secret TUNNEEEEL!  
> Waverly: ...  
> Jeremy: ...yeah.


	3. The roads not taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short filler chapter that was hanging weirdly in my folder. I wasn't really sure what to do with it, so I decided to post it on its own.
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone for reading this. And thank you for all your kind reviews.

  
Waverly steps closer to her red jeep, rummaging in her backpack for the car keys that are laying between the sunscreen and the half empty water bottle. When she finds them, she jiggles the key rings, each of them a tacky gift sent by mail by Wynonna from each and every place she visited. 

The chirping resonating from the car unlocking system makes Nicole jolt, a silent presence behind her.

Waverly watches the knight intently for a second before blinking back a decision.

"You better be worth it."

  
+++++++

  
A small cloud of dust lifts around the small pebble, its descent broken by the dirt speckled on the uneven edge of the road. When her stride matches its position again, Waverly kicks the pebble, sending it spiraling forward, scratching against more dust. After a couple of steps, a wobble push of her non dominant leg and the rock is pelted again, only a few centimeters in the air, swerving to the left, swallowed by the shrubs.

Biting back an annoyed groan, she immediately searches for another rock.

The walk to the Homestead isn't very steep, pleasant on most days, especially the airy days of summer, when the wind pushes away the hot rays of the sun. But summer is long gone, chased away by the chilly breeze of an early autumn, whipping against her cheeks, red tinted and flushed from the cold.

Her calves are burning, tired from the long trek of the morning. She tugs her quilted jacket closer, the material thin and light, but a perfect protection against the subtle wind.

Nicole is still walking behind her, tracing non existent footsteps on the road and clutching the kaleidoscope, a gift from Jeremy.

("Your wizard friend was... intriguing."

"Yeah, he has his moments. But he's the best, so if there's someone who can help us with all of this, Jeremy's definitely the guy you wanna talk to."

"He said it was a bit of a 'mumbo jumbo'. Its meaning eludes me, although I suppose wizardry involves a lot of cryptic terms."

"We'll work on that.")

Turning slightly, Waverly eyes the loose green tunic hanging freely from Nicole's shoulders, leaving a trail of forest behind.

"Aren't you cold?"

The bare sword is swinging from her hip, the crude make-shift scabbard Jeremy put together hitting her thigh with each step. Waverly still expects the weapon to pierce through the thin layer of pants at any moment.

"There is no need to burden you with thoughts about my well being, Lady Waverly," the knight answers, tone even and soft.

They had to leave the car parked under the precinct shadows, with Jeremy's promise to bring it around to her house as soon as he could. She was too mentally exhausted to convince a woman from another time to get inside a coughing and roaring jeep.

A buzzing emerges suddenly, distracting her from her thoughts. Fishing the humming phone from her pocket, Waverly rolls her eyes, ignoring the flashing picture of a flexing Champ on the screen.

The historian in her surges alive.

"So, Nicole," she hits another innocent pebble that skids on the middle of the road, "Where are you from?"

"I consider Purgadair Caislean to be my home and-" the knight hesitates, puzzled by the sudden shatter in the silence.

"Yeah, you're right. That's not what I meant," the corners of Waverly's mouth lift, "I meant _when_ are you from? When were you... put under spell...? God, it sounds so weird when it comes out of my mouth."

Nicole remains quiet, lost in some recess of her mind, "I am uncertain. It seems many moons have passed during my slumber. From what little I encountered, this world shares many differences with my memories."

"Well, many moons is a long time for sleeping," Waverly says, not unkindly.

She loses another pebble to a misstep.

Nicole hums, "I wish to learn of your world. I do not know what to make here, but it is entirely foreign to me,” she explains, “I cannot seem to not be amazed.”

The kaleidoscope twirls slowly in her hands.

“You have my utmost gratitude, Lady Waverly.”

Waverly waves a hand hastily.

“And you seem awfully chipper for somebody who just woke up from a cursed sleep.”

The faraway bellowing of a cow reaches their ears, rustling the space between them.

"Chipper?"

"In good spirits."

Another animal reiterates the previous call, like a honeyed undertone.

“My emotions are scattered,” the knight mutters, refusing to cross eyes with Waverly, who had slowed down her speed to match the redhead's, “My home is... gone. Not physically, but it is gone. It lays in front of me in ruins. I am alone."

Nicole pockets the kaleidoscope, the sleek cylinder swallowed by the ocean of her tunic.

"And yet, I am still alive. I woke up. I know my purpose. That is enough."

Her gaze lifts, focusing on the horizon.

“I won’t pay your kindness back with sadness.”

_Her sisters are hunched over something together, in the middle of the floor, flashlight passed between them, their whispers coming to a halt as Willa notices her tiptoeing. She only smiles back at Wynonna confused expression as Waverly leaves the room._

_Gathered around a bonfire, Champ's jacket rests heavily and uncomfortable on her shoulders, his hand sweaty on her bare thigh. She still giggles along to the last indecent joke that has her friends in stitches, roaring with laughter._

_Her happy birthday text sits unanswered on the screen, as Waverly grins at Chrissy and Robin from behind the bar counter, beer glass oblique under the tap._

Waverly nods at Nicole, a knot in her throat, and keeps walking.

Doc's Highland cattle is slumbering on the side of the road, cows munching on the last patches of green, tails swishing lazily in the dry autumn air. The knight stops for a moment to observe them and another question bubbles forward.

"You have any animals?"

God, Waverly, that was pathetic. That history degree is really paying off.

"I mean, that was..." she stammers.

"A mare." Nicole squints, nonplussed.

"I should have expected that. Uhh. What- what... was her name?"

The cows stare after them, blissfully unaware of their traded words.

  
+++++++

  
When the familiar view of the Homestead spreads out in front of her, softly snoring at the end of the unpaved road, Waverly exhales a long weary sigh, the soles of her feet throbbing with a thousand of invisible needles. Nicole's pale shadow stretches beside her on the cobblestone, shivering in the tremulous sunlight.

Before following her weird companion in the rickety building, Nicole kneels on the ground to pick up the pebble forgotten by Waverly. She pockets it next to the thin cylindrical portal.


	4. Breakfast at Waverly's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I'm sorry for the long wait, but I've been a bit busy with life and other projects.  
> On a side note, this semester's exams are crawling closer, but I'm still in the denial phase, so... that's it, I guess.  
> Thank you everybody for reading and leaving a comment, I'm reading each of your kind words.
> 
> Hope everybody is safe out there, wherever you are.

She isn't sure what it is that wakes her.

  
Living alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, Waverly either is woken by the sun, the cheerful warbling of birds or one of Doc's cows running rampant in her yard.

  
From the moment she blearily opens her eyes, she can feel the day outside barely starting. Way too early for someone like her, who loves to steal precious minutes of the morning still buried in a cocoon of blankets. She grumbles before burrowing further in the pillow, groaning deeply and full of regrets. The harsh awakening of the previous day doesn't help either.

  
She stretches languidly, letting the pleasant tingling in her waking muscles wash over her, fists tangling in sheets and back arching off the mattress. She turns, pressing her cheek into the edge of the pillow, feeling the hazy lure of sleep pulling from every direction.

  
She's about to nod off again, ready to slip into a humming sleep, when a crash resonates from somewhere in the house. Startled, Waverly lifts her head, pushing hair strands out of her face. After a moment of careful stillness, she remembers her new roommate. Showing the knight around the house had been... an interesting experience, her brain still buzzing from the clash between modern and medieval.

  
After a few more seconds of internal debate, Waverly gives up the notion of sleep in favour to check if her living room - where she arranged a sleeping place for Nicole on the sofa - is still standing. She digs up an old hoodie from her desk, fishing it out from under a pile of books and tomes, and slips into the hallway, bare feet shuffling along the wooden tiles.

  
When she crosses the threshold leading to the rest of the house, she discovers that her living room is thankfully still standing. Her kitchen is another thing entirely.

  
"Good morning, Lady Waverly," Nicole greets warmly, wide smile plastered on her face, showing off her dimples, "I hope your sleep was satisfactory."

  
Waverly replies with an unintelligible grunt and the knight nods at her, before busying herself once again.

  
The historian stomps in front of the dish rack, sniffing out the least grimy mug. Choosing the 'Sorry if I looked interested I was probably thinking about history' cup, she moves over to the coffee machine, waiting for the familiar buzzing to start. Behind her, Nicole rummages, her research punctuated by a variety of alarming noises.

  
Waverly's opaque reflection blinks back at her from the even surface of the microwave oven. She has sleep creases running along her cheek, skin reddened by the memory of the pillow, and hair sticking out in multiple directions.

  
She needs caffeine.

  
She grabs a discarded hair tie from the kitchen counter, putting her hair up in a messy bun before turning to check on Nicole, who has her head sticking inside her fridge. Again.

  
"What is it that's so interesting about a fridge?" she wonders aloud, attracting Nicole's attention, whose face is pleasantly reddened by the cold.

  
Nicole is still wearing her forest tunic, combined with a pair of sweat pants Waverly had recovered from Wynonna's old wardrobe, more comfortable for sleeping than an old itchy pair of trousers. However, the red haired knight is considerably taller than eighteen years old Wynonna had been, so her ankles surface from the hem of the pants, leaving her barefooted in the middle of the kitchen.

  
Nicole's long fingers brush over the smooth surface of the fridge, drawing tight circles on its surface, "I fear I am still not familiar with that wording..." she frowns, shutting the door of the fridge with a click.

  
Waverly remains silent as she takes a long sip of her coffee, honeyed and sweetened as usual, watching the knight over the rim of her cup, whose smile is lopsided and radiant like a lanky puppy wagging its tail. A bag of frozen soup and a gluten-free pizza are slowly melting on the kitchen table, a growing puddle under them and staining the wood.

  
"Have you eaten yet?"

  
Uncharacteristically bashful, Nicole produces the remains of a speckled banana peel from the inner pocket of her tunic.

  
"Yes. Though I still feel quite famished."

  
"Then let's see what we can do about it."

  
Cooking breakfast is a messy affair. Waverly glides over the chaos expertly and smoothly - years shared with Wynonna left her attuned to this kind of mayhem in the kitchen - balancing pan and spatula on the tip of her fingers. She can feel Nicole's burning gaze, trailing minutely her moves, focused and free of expectations. The knight has been grounded to a chair at the kitchen table, while Waverly puts together something to tame her rumbling stomach.

  
After a handful of minutes spent in silence, Waverly drops down on her own seat with a flourish, presenting a vast array of dishes to the flabbergasted knight.

  
"Dig in."

  
Nicole's eyes are wide, "All... for me?"

  
Waverly feels a rush of heat crawling to her cheeks, a nasty feeling of shame rising suddenly in her belly. Her overachieving tendencies shined during high school, especially when mixed with her friends' sleazy attitude, who wanted to fly by with only the minimum schoolwork amount. And that meant downplaying her own love for studying, keeping it close to her chest, even while staying on top of her class (Jeremy had been a god-sent, when she met him the last year).

  
"Yeah," she brushes off the comment, hiding behind the rim of her cup, "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I put together a little bit of everything. There's coconut pancakes, toast with maple syrup, waffles... and fruit if you want any, in that bowl," she keeps her gaze low, focusing on each plate as she lists them off with a wide gesture of her free hand.

  
In the following pause, she dares to glance in the knight's direction, expecting a familiar polite-but-awkward half grin, distinctive of everyone who's overwhelmed by her zeal.

  
To her surprise, Nicole is watching her with... wonder in her gaze. Her soulful caramel eyes are round and soft, with only the hint of crinkling in the corners, and her expression is open and clear, framed by short auburn hair, messy strands combed back by an absent-minded hand . She's grinning, teeth peeking shyly from her lips, a shadow dancing on the gentle dip of her mouth.

  
The golden streaks in her pupils shine under the light streaming from the window.

  
Waverly's blush deepens, and this time the feeling squeezing her chest pulls in all the right directions.

  
"I want," she coughs lightly, hoping to dissipate the redness, "I want to make a list of things you like, so it'll be easier to keep track of everything. And also - because I'm a planner," she diverts her eyes, forcing a chuckle.

  
"Thank you," Nicole mutters, words tumbling down, while Waverly ducks under the table to look for a blank journal from a stack of books piled up next to a table leg.

  
"So," Waverly continues as she surfaces, uncapping a random pen, "Try everything and tell me what you like."

  
But the knight's look turns unsure, furrowing her brow at the plates littering the table, hesitant between colours and scents.

  
Waverly smiles gently at her, pushing one plate forward, "Why don't you start with these? Banana muffins. They're my favourite. And - not to brag," she slurs jokingly, rounding the last syllables together, "But mine are totally amazeballs."

  
Still frowning, Nicole lifts one muffin to her mouth and bites into the soft crust, crumbs falling on the tabletop. She munches slowly, easing her taste buds in a new food journey.

  
Then her eyes lights up, frown lifting.

  
And Nicole eats.

  
Waverly can only watch as the knight eats, sipping her coffee distractedly and munching on a cereal bar, like she's never seen someone else enjoying her cooking skills ( _mediocre_ cooking skills) this much. Nicole inhales food at what could be an alarming rate, if you don't consider the fact she just spent hundreds of years sleeping and she supposes that can work quite an appetite. Between the fifth waffle and a spoonful of soy yogurt, Nicole gulps down a mouthfuls of orange juice, before picking up half an apricot and stuffing it between her teeth around a handful of nuts.

  
She's a messy eater, but Waverly is fascinated none the less.

  
After a round of clinking dishes and spoons (the fork lay untouched on the side and Waverly makes a mental note to introduce the knight to the complete array of cutlery), Nicole leans back on the chair and reaches for a napkin. She has chocolate stains on the corners of her mouth and crumbs scattered on the front of her tunic.

  
Only one dish remains, half full on the side. The banana muffins.

  
Waverly can't help the frown that tugs at her chest, "Aw, you didn't like it?"

  
"No," Nicole's hand darts forward, halting her, "I wanted to save it for last," she replies, offering another of her blinding smiles. She picks up the pastry carefully, a concise motion of her wrist, and eats it slowly, grin never fading.

  
Waverly jots down 'banana muffins' on her food list, struggling to suppress the smirk pulling at her lips.

  
"Something else you liked?"

  
Nicole shrugs weakly, shoulders rolling and folded napkin waving in her grip. The paper scratches under the tip of the pen as Waverly scrawls down 'Breakfast' in flowing cursive.

++++++

  
Waverly closes the book and lets her head hit the cover, huffing a weary sigh. Nicole's attentive gaze follows every little movement, arched in a rigid slouch on the opposite chair. Waverly had pushed her way a couple of random books earlier in the morning, varying from fiction novels to history books, attempting to keep the knight engaged and busy while the historian conducts some research. Dutifully silent, Nicole had been observing her while palming the 'Hobbit''s thin spine and slowly twirling the kaleidoscope between the knuckles of her other hand.

  
She's been at it for hours and she can't find any clues about sleeping princesses or sleeping curses or sleeping spells or anything even remotely close. The best she can do are stories and tales, but most of them are historically irrelevant.

  
The knight fidgets again, uncomfortable, as if she can sense the historian's fruitless attempts. Waverly smiles at her, hopeful eyes crinkling at the corners. She flips open a near notebook, rifling through the few notes she had just taken.

  
"Will you go through this with me, again?"

  
Nicole nods tensely, a coil ready to spring.

  
"Okay." Waverly sighs, mirroring the knight's nod, "Let's summarise the facts. I found you sleeping in Purgadair Caislean and woke you up from a sleeping curse-"

  
"A spell, uh, it was a spell, not a curse. Those are different wizard practices." Nicole intervenes.

  
"Because of course they are, okay," Waverly mumbles between her teeth, crossing the word 'curse' and replacing it with 'spell' on her notebook, "And you were put under a sleeping... spell by royal magicians. Is that correct?"

  
"Yes. Should the wizards had failed to conceive a counterspell for the curse placed on Her Highness, as her personal guard I was expected to sleep alongside her. In doing so Her Highness would have not been alone at the moment of her awakening in an unfamiliar world."

  
The irony of the statement isn't lost on Waverly.

  
"Right..." Waverly chews distractedly on the eraser of the pencil she's gripping, "Somehow, the spell had been channeled inside the sword, I think. And by removing it, I broke the spell, waking you up... Wow, I will never get used to saying that."

  
Waverly quickly turns a couple of pages, turning to a mostly blank page, punctuated with question marks. The sound of turning pages ruffles Nicole.

  
"The problem is," Waverly continues, emphasizing the words, "I can't find anything useful about curses and sleeping maidens. Most of the time it's fiction or legend, nothing historically relevant," she shuffles a couple of books laying on the side of the table, "For example, there's _The Sleeping Beauty_ , which is really famous, or _The Sleeper and the Spindle_ , and that is really good, or-" she points each of them as she rattles off the titles, switching between books and dvd cases.

  
She catches Nicole's eyes in between sentences, realizing she's probably lost her somewhere.

  
"I'm sorry," Waverly apologizes, tucking away a book under her notebook, "This is stupid, you probably aren't even interested in these and I-"

  
"No," Nicole's calm voice cuts in, pleasant and polite as it always has been in the short time Waverly had known her, "This is really fascinating," Nicole says as she lifts Gaiman's book, tracing the golden letters on its cover with her index, eyes lost in the sea of books littering the table.

  
"Anyway," Waverly coughs to hide the embarrassed blush, pointing to another page in her journal, where two dotted sentences darkens the page, "I'm making a list of things we should research further, something we can focus on. Any ideas on how we could look up for more details about this curse?"

  
Nicole is looking down at her notes, but quickly lifts her head to look at her at the questioning tone. The sudden movement disturbs the hem of her tunic and the neckline bunches up a little around the knight's lean neck. The garment is far from being improper, but the peculiar cut of the cloth lets a silver of skin on the neck visible, with two symmetrical horizontal slits running towards the shoulders. Its vibrant green looks stark against the hue of Nicole's red hair.

  
"Maybe," Waverly wonders, an idea popping inside her brain, "Maybe there's something left at the castle!" she yells, excitement climbing in her voice, "Didn't you say the wizard was at the castle? Did they have a study or a laboratory or something where they conducted their experiments? They must have left behind some kind of notes, at least."

  
"Yes, they most surely did."

  
Pushing a few tomes on the floor, Waverly flips a couple of books, eyes quickly scanning before discarding them. After a couple of moments, she 'a-ah's, holding a picture of Purgadair Caislean taken from the air. Nicole accepts the photo, hope finally shining in her expression. The historian realizes that this is the first time the knight sees her home in ruins, so she lets a long moment lapse between them.

  
"We can go back there," Waverly whispers, satisfied to have finally found something, after a tedious morning of grasping at misty leads, "And look around the place. You must know the place better than me," she snatches the photography back from Nicole's waiting fingers, placing it between the pages of the notebook. But as she carefully folds it between the wrinkles, her eyes focus on the second bullet point in her list.

  
She scribbled down 'Princess' in bold letters, the word punctuated by a worrying amount of question marks on the side.

  
She can't fathom what happened to her. The glass case was empty but little makes sense about it. Did the princess die? Because of a side effect of the curse? From sleeping for too long? Or did she wake up and leave without waking Nicole?

  
Both the ideas twist uncomfortably in her chest, as she observes the beaming knight, who's now openly staring at her, brown eager eyes scrunching. The last thing she wants is to quell the growing stem of an idea, so Waverly keeps quiet and only smiles back at her.

  
"Okay, we have go back then, let me just..." Waverly rises from the chair, locating her plugged phone behind the sofa, wire rolled around the base of a lamp, "Let me text Jeremy. He'll want to tag along."

  
As she scrolls through her chats until Jeremy's grinning picture, the phone starts buzzing in her grip, an image of Champ flashing with each rumble of the device. She sighs, but swipes her thumb over the green circle.

  
"Hey, Champ."

  
"Babe!" she hears yelling from the other side of the receiver, punctuated by the opaque sound of raucous laughter, "What are you up to?"

  
Nicole's face morphs into a curious expression, as Waverly speaks into her phone, "Just doing some research at the Homestead."

  
"Oh, research! Like about the past, and stuff from before today..."

  
"You mean like history," her words are more confused than sarcastic, but only because Nicole has started to circle around her to peek behind her shoulders.

  
"Yeah! History!" Champ asserts, repeating, as the knight pushes against the edge of the table to reach for closed cabinets, a confused frown creasing her forehead as she inspects them. Still on the phone, Champ finally asks the question Waverly expected to hear since she accepted his call, "So, can I come over?"

  
She drowns the disappointment by watching Nicole sticking her head out of the window and looking around, "No, Champ. I told you I'm researching."

  
"Exactly, we could do some... _research_ together, if you get what I mean."

  
"No, Champ. I simply don't have the time," and she doesn't really want to, but she isn't ready to admit that to herself yet, "Plus, I'm with someone, I can't just ditch them for you."

  
"That's not a problem, babe. We could have a threesome and-" Waverly ignores him, lifting the phone from her ear and covering the microphone with one hand. "Nicole, what are you doing?" She yells in a harsh whisper at the knight, who's still leaning out from the windowsill.

  
"I am trying to determine who you are speaking to and why I am unable to locate their position or hear them," Nicole calmly offers, leaning back on the heels of her feet and turning back towards the historian.

  
"I'm on the phone!" Waverly calls back, waving her iPhone in the air. She can hear Champ's garbled voice coming from the speaker.

  
"Phone?"

  
"Yes!" Waverly laughs, welcoming the loose feeling surging, "With this, I can talk to people who are far from me."

  
"Like sending a letter?"

  
"Yeah, except they immediately answer to you, look." Waverly says, putting the phone on the table and turning on the speaker. Champ's expectant voice scratches against the kitchen walls, startling Nicole.

  
"So, what do you think?" he's saying and Waverly can feel the smugness dripping from his tone.

  
"No. Whatever it is, I don't have time."

  
"But babe," he whines, slouching the consonants together, "I miss you. You never have time, you're always busy with your past stuff. I miss your beautiful face."

  
Waverly feels a prickle of irritation running down her spine, a recent addiction to her boyfriend's timely intrusions.

  
"I really need to go now. Okay?"

  
"Okay, babe. You do your smart thing and I'll be here waiting for your smoking hot bod, okay?"

  
In a blink, he's gone, leaving only the beeping of a cut line carving the space. Waverly suppresses a groan, pocketing her phone again, out of sight.

  
"Was the disembodied voice your kin?"

  
A chuckle tugs at Waverly's lips, "It wasn't a voice. But a person, a man. A boy. Whatever," she shrugs, waving one hand between them, like brushing away invisible cobwebs, "Here, if you speak into a phone, then your voice will be carried to another phone, and whoever is listening will hear you, loud and clear."

  
"Loud and clear," Nicole repeats, nodding to herself.

  
In her wonderfully short career as an historian, Waverly has never seen another person looking so in love with learning. Nicole is attentive, inquisitive and observing. She has noticed that, even if the knight doesn't refrain from asking questions, she has a more direct approach to learning. And she means _direct_. Sticking her head into fridges or burying her elbow in a drawer full of litter, for example.

  
Having someone listening to her with rapt attention is refreshing, for a change. Being the youngest, screaming was often the only mean to have attention in the loud household of her childhood and even after that, most of the times she was shushed or ignored.

  
It's conceited, and probably a little bit selfish. But nice.

  
And somehow, she also gets this intense look painting her features, a deep set concentration engraved on her, whenever she listens to one of Waverly's explanations. She isn't sure how much is actually flowing over her head but the knight is always nodding along and posing questions at the appropriate lulls in the conversation.

  
"Was he your friend?" Nicole's voice cuts in her trails of thoughts.

  
"Yeah, that was Champ. He's my boyfriend."

  
"Boyfriend?"

  
"Eeh, like a lover? Or a suitor? Sorry if he sounded a bit weird, Champ's not exactly the history dude."

  
"He sounded... displeased?"

  
"Yeah. He's... it's complicated." Waverly buries her head between her hands, elbows pushing against the notebook pages, wrinkling them from the bottom. She gingerly lifts her arms, wincing at the red imprints left on her skin.

  
"He should not be displeased. Being a scholar and a woman of culture is an admirable career. He should be honored to have a companion like you."

  
Redness creeps onto Waverly's cheeks, "Well, how about that," she mumbles, busying herself by examining random sentences under her palm.

  
"Are you feeling well, Lady Waverly?" Nicole inquires a moment later, eyebrows narrowing together.

  
"Yup!" Waverly huffs, "I'm great!"

  
"Are you certain? There is redness on your cheeks."

  
“No.”

  
“Yes, I can see it.”

  
"I... I just need a minute to think," Waverly declares, ducking to hide her cheeks behind a curtain of hair.

  
Taken aback by the sudden rush, Nicole opens her mouth to add something, before promptly closing it.

  
Not even a minute into the thinking process, the Homestead's front door slams open.

  
"What's up bitches!" Jeremy shouts from the doorway, submerged in a sand jacket, clearly a few sizes too big for his wiry silhouette. Guided by reflexes, Nicole's hand darts to the hilt of a kitchen knife, drawing it from the counter in a quick motion. A beat later, the blade is nicking at the scientist's smooth neck.

  
"Nicole!" Waverly shouts, rising from her seat.

  
The scientist whimpers, hands raised on the sides of the head "Hiiiii... _Knife_ to see you again."

  
"Nicole!"

  
"Jeremiah!" the knight exclaims after she finally recognizes him, taking one step backwards and removing the sharp edge from under his chin, "I apologize for my rude welcoming. Your arrival caught me unaware."

  
"We don't attack people around here, Nicole," Waverly conveys, winding her fingers around the knight's wrist, the one that's holding the knife, "Even though these people should knock first."

  
"I love making an entrance." Jeremy shrugs, ignoring Waverly's pointed look.

  
The historian exhales briefly, before turning back toward Nicole, hands now perched on her hips, "Okay, new rule. No brandishing blades inside this house."

  
Nicole lowers her weapon without answer, but at least she has the decency of looking sheepish in the warm light. In response, Waverly turns on her feet, marching further inside the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee for Jeremy.

  
As she exhales, standing behind the coffee machine, Waverly lets the sounds of the conversation between Nicole and Jeremy wash over her, a low murmur that has the unexpected result of grounding her. She hasn't let her head wrap around the new development of having a real knight wearing short fuzzy socks in the middle of her kitchen and engaging Jeremy in another conversation about optical prisms.

  
It's the right thing to do, she reminds herself. And she has to figure out what's the best way to help this... this strange human that will be her roommate for the foreseeable future. How to help her navigate a world that doesn't belong the her anymore.

  
Being an archivist would have been way easier.

  
"You need new clothes," she suggests, dropping a steaming mug in front of Jeremy, who nods at her in thanks.

  
Nicole grabs the sides of her tunic, sprawling the clothing under her palms, "Are my garments not suitable?"

  
Waverly shakes her head, "If we want for you to blend in, we need to find something that fits you a little better than my sister's old clothes," she still has imprinted the image of her standing with her bare ankles beside her fridge.

  
Nicole squints at her.

  
"Before we go back to the castle, we'll see about some shopping."

  
"Uuuuh, you're going back to the castle? Can I come?" Jeremy chirps, spluttering around a mouthful of his drink.

  
"Of course, meant to text you about it," she replies, appeasing him with a long stare, fixing on his haggard look and on the shadows under his eyes, "Have you slept recently?"

  
"Nope," he declares, popping out the 'p' and sipping at his coffee, little finger sticking out in the air.

  
Waverly's hand snakes around the cup handle, deftly prying his fingers away, "No more coffee for you, then." At Jeremy's following whine, she traps his arm with a quick flick of her wrist, applying only the smallest of pressure on his forearm.

  
"I yield, I yield! There are irreplaceable bones under there!" he chokes out, tapping quickly on her arm to make her release her hold.

  
"Too much coffee is bad for you, you know that," she says evenly, taking back the cup.

  
"You are an expert in hand to hand combat, Lady Waverly?" comes Nicole's question, a beat later.

  
"A Lady gotta know a thing or two about protecting herself," she says, winking.

  
Nicole blinks at her, again, "That is true. Especially, considering I am a knight myself."

  
Waverly chuckles her agreement. Under the table, she can feel Jeremy's foot drumming against the leg of her chair.

  
"So," the scientist begins, steering abruptly the conversation on a new topic, "I brought back your car," he tosses the keys to Waverly, who completely misses the catch. After flying over her shoulders, the keys tumble on the floor with a metallic thud, but before Waverly can rise, Nicole's chair scrapes against the floor beside her.

  
"Ops."

  
Nicole retrieves the keys and deposits them on the table in front of Waverly in one single flowing motion.

  
"Thank you. Found anything useful at the lab?"

  
"Yes!" something else catches Nicole's attention, who kneels on the floor, ducking under the table, "I tried to look into sleeping spells and curses and other wizardry things, but-" he cuts himself off, watching the white paper bag dangle from Nicole's rising fingers.

  
"Donuts!"

  
"Donuts?"

  
Jeremy tears open the bag, spilling its contents on the tabletop. A dozen different kinds of donuts roll around, bright colours mixing and swirling in front of them. Nicole picks one, pinching it between her digits.

  
"Try one!" Jeremy blabbers around a full mouth, already munching on a glazed one, "I brought them to share. They're practically condensed sugar, I know you'll love them!" his words are rounded, stuffed by his bites.

  
Nicole turns back at Waverly, appraising her reaction. The historian is busy choosing one treat, balancing two of them on each palm. After an internal debate, she bites into the white one, setting down the other and Nicole immediately reaches for a similar one that's resting against her pinkie. The icing is wide, unevenly spread on the donut's surface, but pleasantly bumpy under her fingers.

  
Wrinkling her nose, Nicole brushes away the oddly coloured sprinkles dotting it, leaving behind small indents on the icing, as the little candies stick to her hands, syrupy with sugar. After a few struggling moments, she can finally lift the white treat to her nose, savouring the weak vanilla scent rising from it.

  
"Uuh, vanilla! Those are good!" Jeremy splutters, already reaching for another bright pink donut, "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something, Nicole."

  
"Anything I may help with, Jeremiah."

  
"I wanna date your sword!"

  
"...date?"

  
"Yeah!" he swallows, "Like, I'll bring it back to my lab and I'll do a bunch on analysis and stuff, to determine its age. And other things, like chemical composition and-" he trails off, words disappearing around a mouthful of donut, "So, can I have it for today? I'll promise I'll bring it back to you in one piece."

  
"That's a great idea, Jer," Waverly cuts in, as the knight nods her assent, "If that's okay with you, Nicole."

  
"Great!" Jeremy exclaims, wiping his hands on his shirt, leaving behind white handprints, "Where is it?" he asks, after Nicole remains silent for a long expectant moment.

  
Waverly narrows her eyes suspiciously, "Nicole? Your sword?"

  
On the side, Nicole only sneezes at a passing cloud of sugar powder, eyes slipping downward.

  
Catching the flickering of her look, Waverly rises and in quick steps crosses the room, leaning over threshold leading to the adjacent room. After a beat, her indignant shriek reaches Jeremy and Nicole's ears.

  
"Did you fricking impale my television?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicole thinks daytime tv is trash.


	5. Power of Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm officially on summer vacation, I think I'll have more time for writing, I hope. As usual, thank you to everyone who took their time to read this and leave a comment. I read and cherish each and every one. Hope everybody is safe and well in these trying times. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, am I the only one having a blast with the new season?

  
"Of all the wonders of your world, Lady Waverly, this must be my least favourite," Nicole complains as she tugs at the collar of the blue dotted shirt hugging her torso. The knight shuffles on her feet, hiding in the changing room of the one clothing chain store Waverly's wallet can actually afford. Research papers and academy collaborations are fun and engaging, but not very lucrative.

The historian leans against the wall beside the drawn curtains of the dressing room and waits for Nicole. She kicks her feet distractedly at the curtain as she fiddles with her phone, perched on an uncomfortable black stool. She has a winning streak in Words with Friends to maintain against Chrissy.

"You okay in there?" 

"Could you remind me again the reason behind this peculiar fashion?" Nicole's muffled voice replies, garbled by the thin material dividing them.

While typing the last letters of 'biostratigraphic', Waverly stifles a patient sigh, "You can't wear your old clothes in public if you want to blend in. We need you to look like a 21st century woman," she says, eyeing the battered tunic splayed on her knees, "But that doesn't mean you can't be comfortable."

"I cannot fathom how this... shirt," she pauses, and Waverly can picture the wrinkled expression on the tall redhead's face, "Might be considered comfortable."

"Better not show you any of the dresses, then," Waverly mumbles, casting a crooked glance to the rack of sundresses on display.

"I am afraid I could not hear you, Lady Waverly."

"I said- you should stop hiding in there and let me look at you."

An hesitant stumble answers. "I must confess I do not feel at ease in these garments."

"Oh, come out already!" Waverly chuckles, pocketing her phone and crossing her legs.

Tentatively, Nicole steps out from behind the curtain and checks her reflection in a tall mirror, barefooted and barely resisting the temptation to shift under Waverly's close scrutiny. The knight twirls on herself, turning fully to face the historian while making some hand gestures to comb her long bangs. They insist on falling over her eyes and seem to want to curl a bit, especially at the split ends of her red locks. The picture is nicely completed by a simple pair of dark pants that only shows a silver of bare ankles.

Waverly ignores the burning of the tip of her ears to straighten the ends of the shirt, "See, it wasn't that bad."

"This is terribly impractical." The frown on Nicole's face stretches in a skeptical grimace.

Waverly hums, "And why is that?" 

"Because," Nicole's hands uncurl, flattening over her thighs, "My movement range is limited. I cannot wield my weapon properly in these conditions," she says and proceeds to lift both her arms in a wide arc over her head.

"We said no more swinging your sword," Waverly chides, standing up to circle around Nicole, "But I don't see why we can't find something a bit looser for you."

"And my tunic?"

Waverly palms the material carefully, now hanging from her bent arm. The fabric feels thin and old as the threadbare cloth makes her fingertips itch pleasantly, and the tunic seems resistant against the bite of time. And no matter how carefully she looks, Waverly can't seem to find any visible stitching points on the fabric, making it a single piece of cloth.

"Still here," she clears her throat before continuing, "It's beautiful, by the way. Like a unique piece, almost no needlework. How did you made this?"

"It was a gift. From a friend," Nicole answers, as she toes the woolen carpet under her bare feet.

"She's certainly talented with a needle."

"Oh, she is a sorcerer. She made this with magic," the knight tosses over her shoulder casually only to freeze a moment later, brain catching up with words. "Or she was. I do not believe she..."

Nicole blinks and shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter. She was an amazing sorcerer."

Waverly's smile splits in half. 

Nicole reaches for the green garment between them, "Why can I not wear my tunic?"

"Nicole, it has a huge hole in its left side," the childish grumbling easily stitches Waverly's feelings back together.

"But I am certain I have seen a couple of people donning torn clothes, especially on their knees."

Waverly swipes an invisible dust over Nicole's shoulder, impressed by the knight's keen eye, "It doesn't mean their clothes are old. It's just a fashion choice. That's why you may see somebody with torn jeans even if they just bought them.”

At Nicole's blank look, she curls another smile, "Fashion is one of the most complex and wide form of art. What people choose to wear tells a story about them, often because they want to show different sides of themselves to the world. We are so different that not everyone would feel comfortable in the same set of clothes and so we find the means to express ourselves freely, especially in clothing style."

"So those people like wearing torn clothes?"

"Exactly." Waverly smiles, satisfied, "Other times, people must wear certain types of clothes because of their jobs, like doctors or firefighters."

Feeling a pause coming, Nicole nods dutifully, eyes never straying from the historian.

"Let's try with an example," Waverly taps her chin with a single finger, "You remember what Jeremy was wearing, the other day in the lab? White, open and flowing?"

"A cape."

"Close, but no. It's a lab coat. He wears that because he's a scientist and sometimes he has to deal with dangerous stuff, so he needs protection."

Nicole's following nod is more assured, quietly processing, "An armor."

"Yeah, you could put it like that. Even if he doesn't have to defend himself from swords and arrows. Anyway, when he later came to my house, he wasn't wearing his lab coat anymore, but a Star Wars shirt, remember?"

She waits for Nicole's third nod. 

"That's his style, the one he chose when he's not working. Everybody has one, even unconsciously."

Nicole remains quiet for a long moment, "Do I get one to have one, too?"

"Yes, that's why we're here. We're trying to find what best fits you."

Nicole touches her own wrist with a hand, tugging at the hem of the sleeve and remains silent for another stretched moment. Waverly finds herself not minding the comfortable filling between them. 

"I think I understand what you are telling me, Lady Waverly. Different people entail different choices. Sometimes impractical, but fascinating nonetheless."

Waverly feels her phone buzzing in her pocket, but she decides to ignore it, offering an encouraging smile to the knight, who looks slightly baffled at the load of information. The historian in her cheers, letting go of the rational side of her brain in favor of the pride and accomplishment she feels course through her body. This is incredible progress for a person coming from a completely different time period.

Nicole turns back at her, open and expectant. 

"Let us do style, then."

"Brilliant!" Waverly cheers, pleased, "Get out of those, now. You've got another shirt to try."

"Oh, of course," Nicole nods again and promptly starts to unbutton, hands nimble around the buttons. 

A silver of Nicole's new purple bra peeks through the slit of her shirt and as the edge of the shirt's collar quickly comes undone, Waverly feels herself flush, "Not here," she exclaims, grabbing Nicole's wrists with both hands and effectively halting and pushing her in the cabin's direction, "In there!"

She keeps her eyes shut even when she hears the knight tripping in the curtain of the changing room.

  
++++++

  
The shopping bags crunch under Nicole's kicking feet, as the knight sits gingerly on a plastic chair.

"That looks weird. Is it some form of helmet?"

They're sitting at a circular table littered with half drunk paper cups, lounging outside a generic bar Waverly vaguely remembers going once or twice with her high school friends. After wrinkling her nose at coffee, Nicole had settled for a simple fruit juice, its sweetness easily aligning with her recently discovered sweet tooth.

Waverly takes another sip of her herbal tea, if only to cover her laugh. "No Nicole," she answers patiently, "That's a snapback. It's a hat."

"No, it is not." Nicole chuffs, leaning back against the back of her chair, "You showed me a modern hat before and it did not resemble that."

"That was a beanie. Still a hat. There are different kinds of hats, but all of them are still hats."

"This," Nicole takes another sip as she ponders carefully over the next words, "Style is more difficult than I imagined. Does anything you wear on your head qualify as a hat?"

Waverly smiles in her cup, easily keeping up with the knight insatiable curiosity, "It's a little more than that actually, if you-"

"Hey, babe!"

A shadow looms over their table, a sturdy and short profile. Waverly doesn't force herself to stop the annoyed huff that leaves her lips.

"Champ," she drawls and doesn't miss the way Nicole imperceptibly straightens in her seat. The knight brushes invisible webs from the lapels of her new green jacket, shifting slightly in her seat.

"Babe, I missed ya," she rolls her eyes, "You done with your past thing? Wanna hang out with me and my pals?" at least he's straight to the point.

To further sour her mood, Kyle and Pete York grin at her over Champ's shoulder, both sets of shoulders manly squaring under a female gaze. No matter if said female's boyfriend is standing right between them.

"Ladies," Pete's edged smile flattens, in what Waverly learned to be his way of hiding an imperfection of his front teeth. His brother Kyle, slower with words, merely flicks back one curl over his languid grin.

"Gentlemen," is what rises from Nicole, but the word feels stiff and tight, different from her usual curious and inquiring tone.

"Can we join you?" Champ asks as he simultaneously pulls a nearby chair closer to the table. He crowds Waverly's other side, so that leaves the York brother to clutter the space between him and Nicole. She feels more than sees the knight stiffen beside her.

"You even bought coffee for me," Champ boasts as he grabs the nearest cup, a sweetened espresso Nicole had spit into earlier, "Were you waiting for me, uh babe? Aw, I was thinking about you too."

"No, Champ. Me and Ni-"

"Hey," Pete interrupts her rudely, body angled towards Nicole with a lazy smile, "The name's Pete, charmed to meet you." 

Nicole takes another sip from her cup, but that doesn't seem to deter Pete's introduction.

"Let me ask you one thing, girl. Is your name Wi-fi? 'Cause I definitely feel a connection between us."

Waverly exhales through her nose, barely resisting the temptation to rise the heel of her hand to her forehead. Politely smiling, Nicole only blinks at him as Waverly feels Champ's heavy arm landing around her shoulders. She forces herself not to react at the discomfort crawling through her skin.

"You are mistaken, I am afraid. My name is Nicole, not... Wi-fi."

The following silence is painfully awkward, only interrupted by Kyle, who roughly elbows the staring Pete to force himself in the conversation, "Don't mind my brother, he's a total tool." he waves a dismissive hand, "Say, Nicole," he scoots closer, dragging his chair on the gravel, "You seem like a really smart person. Can you tell me why my heart has started beating like this as soon as my eyes laid on you?"

Puzzlement doesn't leave Nicole and instead it settles further in the wrinkles of her forehead, "I believe it is one requirement of being alive, having a healthy and beating heart."

Waverly smirks at Kyle's dismayed expression, a tingly feeling of victory in her smile.

The cheesy flirting keeps going for a while, words ping-ponging over their heads as Kyle and Pete keep invading Nicole's personal space, struggling with pick up lines that get more elaborate the more the knight shrugs them off. On her other side, Champ slumps himself over her, starting to leave wet kisses on the underside of her jaw. 

"Champ, stop. We're in public."

Waverly scrolls him off a couple of times, but he's clingy and persistent, needy in his feeble attentions. She feels herself growing uncomfortable in her seat with each passing second and with each time Nicole completely misses the point of the York brothers' dumb flirting. The simple amusement at the knight's confusion with modern idioms sours quickly, Waverly's mood irrevocably tainted by the boys' coarse behaviour.

"Champ," she scolds again and slips away from his grip in one determined shrug. Nicole's eye chases hers and the knowledge of the knight's attentiveness slightly quiets the boiling in her chest.

"I need more sugar," she announces and rises stiffly, turning towards the store's entrance, hoping none of the boys take notice of the full sugar bowl lounging in the middle of the table.

"Wait!" Nicole reaches her in one long stride, "I will retrieve it for you."

"No, thank you. I can do it myself," she bristles, offended. The lingering displeasure from Champ's intrusive conduct makes Waverly misinterpret the knight's good intentions.

Nicole retracts her hands, considerate of her personal space, "I know, Lady Waverly," her voice drops to a whisper, cautious not to let anyone overhear their traded words, "But I wish to practice living in this world, especially your language. Let me fetch you more sugar."

"Nicole..." Waverly bites her bottom lip, uncertain.

"Let me try."

The quiet confidence radiating from the knight balances her, making her step back from the rush of frustration that threatens to swallow her. And no matter how much she dreads sitting back with Champ and the others, she acknowledges Nicole's desire to brave this weird environment.

"Okay," she settles on, nodding at Nicole, "Just ask for sugar packets at the counter. They're white little squares."

Only when Nicole ducks under the bar's archway she realizes she didn't thank her.

Sitting back in her chair is as dreadful as it sounds. Champ is slurping loudly from Nicole's bright cup of fruit juice while the York brothers are busy on their respective phones, already forgetting about their pitiful attempts to charm Nicole.

"Is she going away?"

"No, asking for more sugar."

"Well," Champ offers, shaking his cup to feel the drink slosh against the paper walls, "More sugar than this will give me cavities."

The plastic of the chair is sticky and warm as Waverly shifts in her seat.

"I don't know, babe," Champ continues, "What's her name... Nicole? There's something about her that rubs me the wrong way."

Waverly settles for silence as she watches Nicole talking to a waitress, face covered in the faded shadows cast by the fluttering of the bar's awning.

"I mean, fruit juice? Who the hell drinks this vegan shit in a bar?"

Nicole points back in the direction of their table without looking, fingers shaping a small rectangle between the angles of her thumbs and pointers.

"And she didn't even give poor Pete and Kyle a chance. I mean, my boys obviously deserve the best, but for her not to even look their way? That's not the way to treat a man."

The waitress offers a small plastic bowl, filled with sugar packets, expecting the redhead to take the whole basin and bring it back at the table. Instead, the knight carefully chooses one single sugar packet, pinching its edges with clammy fingers, and nods at the waitress, always smiling.

"You better be careful around her, babe. I can tell she's bad news."

When she turns to fully face her boyfriend, she finds a sneering expression staining his face, teeth bared in clear mockery. As she looks at him, she feels herself growing more conscious of all of his features. His hair is slicked back as usual, but this time, Waverly can only focus on the sick gleam of the gel keeping the whole look together. The tattoos winding around his biceps are obnoxious and the huge watch tacky around his meaty wrist.

Waverly is anything but naive. She knows that love can't be rose tinted lenses that dims the unpleasant quirks of the person you love. Love doesn't make anyone perfect. And as she looks at Champ, right now, she realizes she can't picture herself growing old alongside his unfavorable traits.

Maybe she never had.

“Oh my god, Champ!” Waverly hisses, crossing her arms while putting space between them. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gapes at her sudden reaction, mouth round like a fish.

"I don't like what you're implying about Nicole. Fudge nuggets, you don't even know her," she snaps, letting the flare of anger that's been harbouring in her belly shoot up her spine and down her toes. 

"But, babe-"

Waverly wills herself to glare harder at him, "Champ, I will not sit quietly and listen to your nonsensical accusations and childish whining."

She ignores Pete and Kyle, who are not so subtly listening on their conversation from over their mobile screen.

When Nicole comes back, it's to a red faced Champ, spluttering some vague noises, "Come on, babe. I was just kidding, you know how I am."

"Yes, I know how you are," Waverly rises to her full height, reveling in Kyle's concerned frown, "You are an asshole."

She snatches their bags from under the table and his half empty cup - Nicole's cup - and storms away, grabbing Nicole by the wrist as the knight struggles to keep a tight hold on her hard gained sugar.

  
+++++

  
Waverly doesn't stop until she sees the red profile of her jeep, parked under the sunlight. As the sun sets on the horizon, its rays feel welcome against the rapidly chilling air. Instead, Waverly can only feel the burn of residual anger over Champ’s comments about Nicole, that make her huff angrily at the low light.

"Lady Waverly..."

"That, that... shit ticket! He's such a child!" she starts pacing, her angry ranting leaving marks on the gravel.

"Lady Waverly?"

The historian ignores Nicole's hesitant approach and marches to the jeep trunk, where she drops unceremoniously the results of their shopping. She feels a brief ping of guilt at the green vibrancy of Nicole's old tunic, the harsh treatment of the bags not helping the frail material. The fond look in Nicole's eyes at the mention of her friend flickers in her mind, before being replaced once again by Champ's cruel remarks.

"He was so disrespectful. Such nerve. He doesn't even- he, he, ugh!" she tosses her hands up and proceeds to shut the car's trunk with an angry snarl. "And those York boys, they are the worst, I don't even know why I thought they could-"

"Waverly!"

Nicole reaches out to still Waverly’s frantic hand wringing, palm tightly squeezing the paper cup still trapped in her clutches. Her eyes are cinnamon in the embers of the sun. 

Waverly observes her in a confused silence,"He was, Nicole. He was saying things about you - things that aren't true and, and shit I, I don't know."

"Waverly." Nicole repeats and her hand is warm over Waverly's.

Frustration and anger crack inside her, leaving wonder to crawl through the fractures, "You called me Waverly."

Nicole's lips thin and then her cheeks bloom red adorably, but the knight stays silent.

"You called me Waverly," she repeats, as Nicole slightly bows her head forward.

"I apologize. It was not proper of me, I-"

"No, no." Waverly's smile feels stronger, growing from the surprise, "It's okay. Don't worry. I didn't mind that."

"It would not be proper."

"I know," Waverly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "But I'm saying that, if you wanted, then it wouldn't be a problem. You know, it's normal for people around here."

Nicole gives her a helpless look, "I shall try then. Waverly."

At he smile, the knight features quickly softens, concern edging on the confusion, "Why did you quarrel with him?"

The mention of Champ bites at her insides, tangy, "He was saying stupid things about you and I couldn't stand it." Her next sigh is more weary than annoyed.

"Nicole, I am sorry about them."

"You do not need to apologize," Nicole quickly reassures her.

"Yes, I do."

The knight shakes her head. "You do not. Because you are not at fault. You are not responsible for them or their behaviour."

"But if it wasn't for me, they wouldn't have bothered us."

"Nonetheless, you are not the keeper of their actions. Or their words."

At Nicole's careful touch, Waverly feels her stomach twist.

"I have always struggled with words, my whole life. Being a female knight was unusual, frowned upon. And that made me an exception, one that people liked to prod at with strange words and harsh questions. Words can be cruel, especially when you are different and they are loud."

There are circles in Nicole's eyes.

"Words can be confusing, too. They do not make much sense to me, especially the ones coming from your world," Nicole leans back on her feet with a dimpled grin, "The York brothers were quite interesting in that regard."

Despite her sour mood, a snort escapes Waverly, "They certainly are an acquired taste."

Nicole's smile widens at her comment.

"But words can be good, too," she continues, "They can soothe and heal. Calm and center."

The knight swallows tightly, "In the Resurrection Chamber, I was alone, while sleeping. Lost. But then you came along and woke me up. You stayed and offered comforting words."

"What I wish to say, Lady Waverly, is that words only hold as much power as we let them. Nonetheless, one should always taste their words on their tongue before spitting them out."

“Of course, you’re also a poet,” Waverly mumbles to herself, grateful but still lowering her eyes to hide the tremble in them. When she looks back up, Nicole wrinkles her nose, frowning.

"I hope that is not to be the case. I do not wish to be a poet."

"Why not?" the giggle forces her way in her smile at Nicole's pout, "I always thought poet were deep souls, writing beautiful things.I would be honored to be considered one."

Nicole scoffs at the notion, "Back in my home, poets were the one who tried to come up with elaborate ways to charm naive girls with elusive and superficial words, when in reality they only wished to enter their beds."

With a guffaw, Waverly lets loose, "Really? No introspection on human nature? Where we come from? What happens after we die?"

Nicole shrugs, tilting her head to the side.

"I'd better introduce you to Shakespeare, then."

"Is he a friend of yours? Another wizard?" the historian laughs at her puzzled expression.

Nicole never removes her hand from Waverly's grip.

Still smiling, Waverly tries tentatively, chasing Nicole's warmth. "You forgot your cup at the table," she offers with a sheepish smile and Nicole accepts it with utmost care, fingers tracing the deep wrinkles caused by the wringing of Waverly's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about poets' interests, nor I claim to be one. Just, I think they were doomed to exist types like that? Again, not historically accurate, but, if there's a singer today who laments the frailty of human life, then there is another who is 'yo, I'll blast your ears with distorted sounds 'bout having fun under the sheets'.  
> But I'm not judging, everybody do their thing and have fun. Art can't be judged upon exclusively based on the theme it chooses to talk about. I can find a shitty artist weaving words about human life while discovering an amazing one who writes only explicit stuff, both in prose and ideas.  
> Sorry, didn't mean to bother anyone with my dumb ideas. See you next time!  
> (Also, everybody go read more poetry.)

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I made a tumblr! Not much action, but if somebody wants to come and say hi, you can find me
> 
> [arckee-dreams](https://arckee-dreams.tumblr.com/)


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